


A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Hanners fancies himself an author, How does Hannibal finally die?, M/M, Writing, You've been warned, don't we all..., except not, it's crack, more like character melodrama, sooooo much crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 06:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14130540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: How is Hannibal Lecter finally killed? Dramatically, of course...A story of melodrama and crack.





	A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chronicopheliac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicopheliac/gifts).



> So...the fantastic Chronicopheliac wrote a fic about the death of the murder husbands that absolutely ate my soul. If you haven't read it, check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566777).  
> Literally, I was in bed snuffling and thinking about the miserable tragedy that was that glorious story and I knew what I had to do - I had to take a perfectly beautiful story and make it utter crack.   
> So...you know...you've been warned.

          In the end, it wasn’t Jack’s bullet, but the fever that brought down Hannibal Lecter. The bullet had been meant for Will’s shoulder, but Hannibal found he could not tolerate the idea of Jack Crawford marking his boy any more than he already had. It had been a simple maneuver to direct Will from the path, nearly a dance, Hannibal mused as he felt his liver tear. A small price to pay to watch his mongoose alight upon Agent Crawford and tear him to pieces. Hannibal had almost bled out by the time Will had calmed enough to attend him.

          Will had carefully extracted the fragments of Jack’s round, hands shaking as he listened to Hannibal’s murmured instructions.

          “I can’t do this,” he whispered, cerulean eyes flooding with emotion.

          “You must, my brave boy.” Hannibal kissed his love’s trembling knuckles. “Now, pick up the forceps.”

          Will spent the hours after the surgery wrapped as tightly around Hannibal as the bandages, his breath ruffling the fine hair behind the doctor’s ear as he slept. Hannibal could ask for no greater comfort than the heartbeat of his beloved, steady and low in his ears as the night wore on.

          When the sepsis began, Hannibal didn’t mention it. He didn’t note the slight change in odor from the wound; the sweet smell of putrefying that signaled the storm to come. The visual symptoms wouldn’t emerge for at least two days, and Hannibal wanted that time with Will before the burden of death fell again upon the beautiful boy's shoulders.

          Will spent those two days feeding Hannibal little pieces of bread, joking that he’d have to settle for grape juice instead of wine. Hannibal let himself relax in his love’s arms, momentarily forgetting the tendrils of disease he felt threading through his system from his liver. Will tutted over his cannibal, adjusting sheets, sponging him with a basin filled with filtered water and three drops of lavender oil – Hannibal always felt two drops suffused the water perfectly, but smiled at the boy's efforts, regardless.

          It was during one such bath that Hannibal felt Will’s sponge pause.

          “Why is this so dark here?” He poked at the necrotic flesh peeking from beneath the bandage.

          “It’s noth-”

          But Will was already peeling back the bandage. The smell of rot was nearly overpowering in the open air, Will’s Adam’s apple bobbed as his throat clenched around the sweet fetid aroma.

          “You bastard.” Will’s eyes swam. “How long?”

          “Perhaps a week?” Hannibal stretched his neck, and settled back against Will like a contented cat. “You’re taking excellent care of me.”

          “Why didn't you tell me?” Will’s fingers pressed at the edges of the fetid flesh, provoking the wound to weep as he did the same.

          “There was nothing to be done, so I did nothing.”

          Long rivers of regret flowed from Will’s eyes , traversing the pale expanses of his cheeks. “I can’t go on without you. I won’t!”

          “Will, my darling love-”

          “Will-”

          “WILL!”

          Will snapped his head up from the pages, belatedly trying to hide them behind his prone body. He tried to deploy his most charming smile, looking at Hannibal from under his lashes. “You’re home early!”

          Hannibal did not look impressed as he crossed his arms and raised a brow. “What do you have there?”

          “Huh?” Will rolled on top of the papers, cringing when they crinkled under his weight.

          “What are you-” Hannibal pried the paper from under Will, freezing when he saw his handwriting. “You went into my desk.”

          “Uh…I…needed a pen.” Will sat up, fighting the flush that was raising on his cheeks.

          “There are no pens in my desk drawers.”

          “None?” Will frowned. “Who doesn’t have a pen in their desk drawer?”

          “They are displayed in the charming dog you gave me for my birthday.”

          Will grinned. He had fashioned the little terrier pen holder from some spare engine parts and presented it to Hannibal as a gag gift. He was just about to explain the joke to the doctor and offer him his real gift when he had been wrapped into a fierce hug. Hannibal had been so genuinely touched that Will had created something for him, the empath didn’t have the heart to admit the hunk of metal was crafted to specifically make Hannibal cringe. As a result, every visitor to their home was lead to the study so they could appropriately coo over what Hannibal had deemed _a work of profound minimalism with modern materials_. 

          “OK, I give up.” Will sat up, offering the rest of the slightly crumpled papers to Hannibal, who took them with a mild frown. “I was curious. You locked yourself in the study scribbling away for hours last night.”

          Hannibal glanced at the pages, then back at Will. “Was your curiosity satisfied?”

          “Not really.”

          “And why is that?”

          “Because,” Will edged forward, letting his legs dangle off the bed. “Now I’m left to wonder why you wrote about your death in prose so purple, it’s practically a bruise.”

          Hannibal sniffed. “I was merely getting my feelings onto paper. If my choice of words or emotional release bothers you so, I can always go back to expressing myself with a linoleum knife.”

          The doctor turned on his heel, but Will was quicker. He grabbed Hannibal’s belt and tugged him backwards. Hannibal offered no resistance as Will yanked him onto the bed.

          “Emotional release?” He sprawled next to Hannibal, gently taking the crumpled papers from the doctor’s hand. He used the stack to bop Hannibal on the nose. “Don’t tell me…I forgot to trim my beard again?”

          Hannibal rolled his eyes. Will raised an eyebrow. 

          “My shirt and pants matched, but the belt was all wrong?”

          Hannibal’s lip curled. Will swatted him on the nose again.

          “Dear god,” Will widened his eyes in mock horror. “Did I forget to let the wine breathe?”

          With a growl, Hannibal curled forward and up. Will rolled on top of him smiling.

          “You tell me, or you spend the night under me.”

          Hannibal’s eyebrow ticked up, his mouth curving. Will shook his head.

          “Not in the fun way.”

          Hannibal pushed at Will’s shoulder, but the empath went limp, weighing the doctor down.

          “Fine,” Will, sighed dramatically. “I guess I’ll just sit here and read.”

          Raising the papers, Will cleared his throat. “In the end, it wasn’t Jack’s bullet, but the fever that brought down Hannibal Lecter.”

          “Stop.”

          Will peered at Hannibal from over the papers. “Tell me why you killed yourself and made me weep long rivers of regret from my eyes.”

          “Perhaps I felt unappreciated.”

          “Unapprecia-” Will tossed the papers off the bed, letting them scatter on the floor. “IS THIS ABOUT THE GODDAMN CHICKEN?”

          Hannibal clenched his jaw. Will smacked Hannibal in the chest.

          “I just said it was a little bland!”

          Hannibal stretched his neck; an annoyed tick Will had come to find rather charming. “The marinade took two hours to prepare.”

          “So, I don’t like one meal in five fucking years and you decide to kill yourself?”

          “It was merely an exercise in expressing my feelings.”

          Will rubbed a hand over his eyes, examining Hannibal from between his fingers. “I’ll kill myself, then he’ll be sorry?”

          “You make me sound like a child.”

          “Yeah? Well, you made me into a hysteric.” Will tilted his head, a grin stretching his mouth. “ _Long rivers of regret_ …Jesus Christ, Hannibal.”

          “You’re right, I took some dramatic license there.” Hannibal’s lip curled as he struggled to unseat Will. The empath allowed himself to be thrown onto the pillows, watching with amusement as Hannibal brushed at his rumpled shirt. “If I were to be accurate, I suppose I should have had you celebrating my demise. Throwing a keg soiree with frittata chips.”

          “They’re called Fritos,” Will said with a smile. “And I noticed the bag I had mysteriously disappeared from the counter.”

          “I threw them out.”

          “Uh-huh,” Will decided not to mention the fact that even the indomitable Hannibal Lecter was no match for corn chip breath. Instead, Will wrapped his arms around Hannibal’s middle, squeezing at the softness he found. “Do you really not know what’s going to happen when you die?”

          “So, it’s been decided I’ll expire first?” Hannibal was sneering, but made no move to loosen Will’s grip on him.

          “Well, you’re old,” Will buried his face in Hannibal’s shoulder to ride-out the doctor’s huffs of outrage. Once the cannibal settled, Will propped his chin on Hannibal’s shoulder. “And you’re showy – always insisting we stay for hours so you can get the angle of the spleen right or whatever it is you do.”

          This time, Hannibal moved to release himself, but Will was prepared. He pulled against the doctor’s momentum, keeping him in place on the bed. When he stopped struggling, Will rewarded Hannibal with a soft kiss just below his right ear – the spot that always made him pliant. “You’re also a romantic. And I have no doubt in my mind you’ll do something monumentally stupid if we get caught, like sacrifice yourself to save me.”

          Hannibal shifted, turning to catch Will’s eye. “And what will you do with your abundance of free time, when death comes for me?”

          “I’ll eat your heart.” Will whispered, eyes pricking with tears. “Your tongue too, if I have time.”

          Hannibal’s mouth softened, the edges curling while his eyes watered. Will took the opportunity to steal a kiss.

          “I’m leaving your brain.” Will raised a hand to tap at Hannibal’s forehead. “That caused me enough trouble in this life.”

          “Brains are rather tricky to prepare properly.” Hannibal conceded with a wet laugh. “And after you’ve consumed me?”

          “I’ll follow you.” Will pulled his love flush to his chest. “Into whatever comes next.”

          A tear fell from Hannibal’s eye, catching on the groove of his smile. Will licked it from his lip before kissing Hannibal again. This time, the doctor melted, allowing himself to be spread upon the bed under the weight of Will’s love.

          “Perhaps I should revise my story,” Hannibal said, watching intently as Will straddled him and began the arduous task of unbuttoning the layers of cloth between him and the doctor. “Any suggestions?”

          “How about a porn?” Will offered with a smile, tugging at Hannibal’s shirt and sending buttons flying. “Something really dirty with ropes and chains and obnoxiously loud orgasms?”

          “I think I’ll need some inspiration.” Hannibal struggled out of his shirt, grabbing at Will’s hips. “You’ll look resplendent, bound and writhing, at the mercy of my whims and your own desire to-”

          Hannibal choked as the fine linen of his shirt was shoved into his mouth.

          “And gags,” Will said, firmly holding the shirt in place as he moved to rake his teeth over Hannibal’s nipple. “There should be plenty of gags.”

* * *

 

          Will flopped back on the bed, panting and pulling Hannibal with him. “Fuck, that was fantastic.”

          Hannibal hummed, pushing further into Will’s embrace. “Indeed it was, and I feel you’ve earned a reward for your efforts this afternoon.”

          Will laughed. “I know I give you shit for being old, but there’s no way I can go again.”

          Will paused, biting into Hannibal’s shoulder just to get the salt of him on his tongue. “Hell, maybe? Give me fifteen minutes.”

          Hannibal leaned forward, rummaging in the nightstand drawer, he produced a stack of papers and offered them to Will. “Something to keep you occupied while we wait for your lower half to regroup.”

          Will furrowed his brow, squinting. “What’s this?”

          “What we discussed last week.”

          “It’s a new dog so Ollie doesn’t get lonely and eat more of your loafers?” Will grinned when Hannibal snarled at the memory. The fact that Hannibal had merely angrily scoured the pans from dinner while glaring at the pup made Will’s chest run warm. The monster of three years ago would have left him and the mutt bleeding in the kitchen. Hannibal’s current form still had sharp teeth, but he used them with a bit more discretion.

          “I penned an amorous encounter, as requested.”

          “Inspiration for round two, huh?" Will’s smile grew, he could feel the scar on his cheek stretching as he reached for the papers. "Let me see.”

          “Technically, wouldn’t this be round three?” Hannibal asked, handing over the story.

          “Oh, like handjobs in the car count,” Will dismissed. “Now hush, I have important reading to do.”

_Will shuddered, his gleaming obelisk of passion weeping._  

          Will looked up, eyebrow raised. “It’s a cock, not a pillar, you weirdo.”

          “Is it not a monument to our love?”

          “Oh, Jesus,” Will muttered. "You know what? I'm breaking all your pens."

          Hannibal snorted. “Then how will you draw phalluses on my sheet music?”

          Will rolled his eyes and went back to the story. He’d only been reading a few minutes when he sat up in bed, whacking Hannibal solidly with the papers.

          " _Hannibal was painted with Will's opalescent watercolors, tones that appeared on him frequently._ " Will read in a condescending tone. “It’s been less than a fucking paragraph and I’m already shooting my load – ARE YOU FUCKING SAYING I COME TOO QUICKLY?"

          Hannibal offered a noncommittal smirk. Will felt the urge to peel it off his face with a boning knife. "Perhaps we should examine why you feel that way. Or perhaps we should finally get the cock ring I suggested."

          “Get the plug I showed you and we’ll talk cock rings.” Will mumbled as he took up the papers again. To his chagrin, he noted that Hannibal already had his tablet out and was indeed going back to the website they had looked at after two bottles of wine and a rather enthusiastic breaking of the butcher’s block in the kitchen.

          Will sighed, fair was fair.

          He resumed reading as Hannibal made the order. It only took three paragraphs before he was tapping the doctor on the shoulder again.

          "OK, I give up,” Will said when Hannibal turned. “What the hell is a _turgid tip of love_?"

          Hannibal frowned. "I don't understand your confusion."

          Will’s eye roll moved his entire head back. "Cock or nipple, Hannibal?"

          Hannibal sighed as if he were addressing a very simple child. "Your nipple, Will."

          Will nodded. "Oh, ok, cool, I was going to say, don't bite at my cock."

          Hannibal’s mouth thinned into a tight line. "I don’t believe I asked for notes."

          "No?" Will grabbed at Hannibal’s tablet, setting it and the story on the nightstand. He ran his nails down Hannibal’s chest, leaving reddened trails. "That's a shame because I had a brilliant idea for the sequel."

          Hannibal’s breath caught. "Oh?"

          Will leaned down to bite at the join of Hannibal’s shoulder. He tilted his head and whispered, "Yeah, it's all about me getting a hand on your purple headed yogurt shooter."

          Will was on the floor before he could even register he’d been tossed. Hannibal stood, half hard cock wilting as he wrapped himself in his robe. "Some stories don't deserve sequels."

          Will looked down at his erect cock, considering for a moment. When he met Hannibal’s glare, his eyes were the picture of innocence. "One eyed trouser snake?"

          Hannibal tightened the tie on his robe. "I'm making dinner."

          “It’s just a first draft!” Will yelled as Hannibal turned on his heel and stomped from the room. “Majestic cream fountain? Long Dong Silver? Unchoked Chicken? Hannibal? Hannibal!”

          When he was met with silence, Will reached for the lube on the nightstand.

          “Fine!” He yelled defiantly as he slicked his dick, “I'll just work on the sequel myself!”

 

 

 


End file.
